Poultergeist
by HesterAntoniaDracolas
Summary: She had stormed out into the rain, only gone for half an hour, yet when she returned everything had changed. How had this happened? Every sign of her, simply vanished. What is she? And what is she supposed to do now, when she's struggling to remember her own name.


**Hi everyone,**

**this may seem like an original story for the first few chapters but the connection to Harry Potter will soon become apparent so do bear with!**

**Reviews are very welcome :)**

**Hester Antonia Dracolas**

* * *

She hovered in the doorway, hovered and considered her next possible move. Did she enter? She felt it would probably be better if she was invited but she didn't think they were aware of her presence.

They should be, she thought crossly, they should be waiting anxiously for her return. That's what family do, surely, when a member runs out into the stormy night? They wait concerned, send someone out to look for them, don't they? They welcome them back relieved and then start to get angry.

She hadn't been away for long, she'd run out into the storm and down the hill stumbling over the cracks in the pavement, sliding over the smoother slabs, struggling to maintain her balance. Once she'd reached the bottom she had begun to feel quite foolish, no coat, just her old crocs, useless in the puddles.

She was soaked, her hair in thick clumps, rain trickling down the back of her neck and down her forehead, heavy beads of water weighed down her eyelashes and rolled into her eyes. She was cold, her thin shirt stuck to her back, her jeans constricting as they absorbed water like a sponge. She was miserable.

She had turned crossly and begun the long slog back up the hill to No. 16 Arkwright street, when she got back to the lime green door with the cheerful little flowers in the box on the window sadly drooping under the assault of the rain she was angry all over again and carried on up to the top. She went past the Salter's with their feisty dog that barked at her through the letter box and then turned and hurried all the way back down past the Manning's where her friend Calli lived. Unfortunately she didn't think she could burst in at such a time and in her drenched state.

Back and forth, up and down the hill she went, changing her mind each time she hadreached her door, on the fourth descent she had broken into a run, accelerating rapidly until she had skidded off the pavement, tripped over the curb and crashed to her knees on the road.

She'd ripped s hole in her jeans, had to crawl under a car into a deep filthy puddle to retrieve her crocs which had flown off and worst of all she had grazed her palms, bruised her side and shoulder and she had gashed her knee. It was a bad gash, too, deep and wide, the blood stained her jeans a dark crimson.

So she'd limped back to her front door, extracted the key from her pocket and now here she was at the sitting room door waiting for them to notice. There were her mother and father sitting in their armchairs, a glass of wine in one hand, a book in the other, earnestly discussing the plot. They had two copies of every book they read, one from the library, one owned, so that they could read it at the same time.

There was her elder brother sprawled on the sofa that was just too short for his lanky frame but on which he still insisted on having his feet up despite the fact that it left no room for her and there weren't any other chairs. That was what they had fought over that evening and when her parents refused to take sides despite the fact that he was obviously the one in the wrong she had stormed out. It seemed exceedingly unfair that she was the one who was cold and injured and he had got his way.

He, of course, was watching something on his iPad, a horror movie in all probability, with his headphones on.

There was the cat, Tilly, spread out by the fire a black shadow of the flames. Her father always joked that they never needed to clean the carpet by the fire because any escaping charcoal and dust was absorbed into Tilly's fur. No matter where she was or what she was doing the moment the fire was lit she would be asleep by its side within moments.

In other words, everything was in it's normal state and that was the problem. She had disappeared for half an hour on a dark, rainy night, it was almost 11 o clock. They had not come after her, they did not seem remotely perturbed by her absence, they hadn't even noticed her return.

If she wasn't so cold and wet already she would have stormed right back out making sure to slam the door extra hard.

Instead she swept out the room with as much dignity as she could possibly muster and stomped up the stairs to the top floor taking her anger out on them viciously. She pealed her clothes off and left them in a pile on the landing, not even bothering to go in her room and headed straight for the shower.

Clean and dry, her knee washed and antiseptic from her parent's bathroom applied she began the hunt for a suitable plaster. Upon opening her bathroom cupboard she found to her surprise that it was uncharacteristically neat and almost empty only full bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a spare loo roll and some bars of soap. The plasters, her toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash and shower gel, the neurophen and piriton, spare flannels and deodorant, all gone. There had been a strange full bottle of shower gel on the rim of the bath.

She was puzzled, maybe her mother had a sudden spring cleaning urge and had tidied the cupboard, strange that she had removed so much though, she presumed it had been left in her room. The bathroom _was_ looking tidier and cleaner than usual so it seemed quite likely.

She trudged down to her parent's bathroom again, She wasn't going to brave the filthy grotto that was her brother's, and found a big enough plaster. Though she was tempted by the bandage to play up the sympathy, she felt she certainly deserved it.

Then she entered her room.

She almost screamed in shock. All her stuff had gone, her posters, her clothes, all the ornaments on the shelves, the shelves themselves, her dressing table with all her makeup, her rug, her radio, her phone, her bean bags. Even the bed was different, a double with a cream bed spread.

She ran across the landing to the spare room, no it was as it always was, the ironing board at a precarious angle, piles of fresh linen on the bed.

She went back to her room and stood staring open mouthed. What had happened? There was no way her family could have done this whilst she was out, even the walls were a different colour, the closet full of spare pillows and winter duvets.

Had she wandered into the wrong house by accident? No, her brother's door was plastered with all the keep out signs and skull and crossbones he had put there when he was younger and was unable to remove now that he no longer thought they were cool.

The paintings of seascapes and the family photos still hung on the walls though she was missing from all of them. It was as if her presence in the house, in the family, had been completely and utterly erased.

She was on the verge of tears, clutching her towel around her what was going on? What had happened after she had left the house?

She found an old dressing gown of her mothers in the real spare room and hurried down the stairs taking them two at a time noting differences as she passed. No missing spindles where she had got her head stuck and her dad had had to remove them to free her. No drawings on the wall around her parent's bathroom where she had drawn fish and swirly blue patterns when she was little. No piano in the drawing room, only she had ever played. No map of the world which she had bought but didn't fit in her room.

She went into the kitchen first when she reached the ground floor, only three bowls at the sink waiting for the dishwasher to finish, only three sets of cutlery, only three cups. Only three places set at the table. None of her favourite chocolate in the fridge, her special cup and plate missing from the cupboard, no pears in the fruit bowl. Every sign of her gone.

She edged towards the sitting room door terrified of what she might find. But it was just as she left it, she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. They might not recognise her and chase her from the house. Then she'd be alone in the rain in a dressing gown. It seemed ridiculous that her own family wouldn't know her but in her delirious mood anything seemed possible.

But they made no signs of having seen her, once again she was hovering in the doorway unsure of whether she should enter or not.

"Hello?" she ventured bravely. Nothing, not a flicker.

"I said hello," she said louder but still they ignored her.

"Mummy, I'm back," she tried still louder.

"Daddy, I tore my jeans, I'll buy new ones," nothing.

"Are you listening?" she said. "Can you hear me?"

Silence, the fire crackled in the grate, her mother sipped at her wine, her father turned a page, her brother grinned at something unseen on his screen. Tilly twitched a paw in her dream.

"I'M SORRY!" she yelled her voice rising to a crescendo. "I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY! TALK TO ME! LOOK AT ME! PLEASE!" she screamed their names, they did not even flinch. Halfway through her tirade her mother looked up and said "have you noticed how Sylvie is growing frostier?"

"Yes and Hugh is growing more kind, I disliked him at first," her father replied.

She stared at them dumbfounded, they couldn't see or hear her, they didn't know she existed. Did she even exist anymore? Would she suddenly disappear?

She picked up a vase of flowers and threw it to the floor in a last ditch attempt to get their attention.

"Oh dear! Quick darling fetch the dustpan and brush. Did it fall? How strange,"

"Keep the cat away, we don't want her getting any glass in her paws,"

No, they couldn't see her. She pulled the headphones from her brothers head, he pushed them back up again. She prodded her mother's shoulder, she did not feel it. She nudged Tilly who was always adversed to people touching her when she was asleep. Finally she got a reaction.

Tilly leapt up and hissed but upon seeing her began to rub her way along her legs.

"I say isn't Tilly acting strangely," her father remarked.

"Yes, I've never seen her do that before"

She thought of the books she'd read where the animals could see those people could not. Only her cat knew her. She was alone in her own house.


End file.
